


Memorial hill

by AlphaNogitsune



Series: black and white and all we are [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: (?), Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, I really hope this isn't taken the wrong way, I'm Sorry, Post-War Verse/AU, Qrow is on a wheelchair and Winter lost one arm and one leg + burnt scars, Very Heavy, abuse mention, in which Jacques was fine once, it's just an idea I like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 09:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaNogitsune/pseuds/AlphaNogitsune
Summary: She reminisces on the past and he tries to take the guilt from her shoulders. It is not, and never was, her fault.





	Memorial hill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NinaVale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinaVale/gifts).



Going up the hill on the wheelchair was easier than he thought, but in general, as hard as he expected. In the end, pushing his weight all the way up only with his arms was something he had done on a regular basis in the past; still did. 

Just not that way. Wheels also didn’t help him a lot.

Winter looked golden against the rays of the setting sun; while her hair and skin reflected the light, her black dress absorbed it, and the contrast gave her such an unique, ethereal look somehow. Her right arm and leg, however, had a more opaque reflex. Effect of the fake skin.

He gave himself the time to admire her while letting the soldier have her privacy. After all, she was there to mourn, and he had no right to disturb her in such a delicate moment. He liked being alone when mourning, and it was just fair that he did the same to her. 

It didn’t take long before she called him.

“I know you’re there, Qrow.” Winter didn’t turn to face him, though. Her voice failed a bit and her hair was styled and all thrown over her right shoulder… Probably she couldn’t stand to stare at the burn scars while applying make-up.

_Bad day, then? Well._

“I guess the wheelchair isn’t all that silent.” Qrow pushed his way towards the woman, not caring about discretion anymore. He did, however, stop within respectable distance. “How did you know?”

“It wasn’t even the wheelchair. You were panting.” Then she turned to him, a soft smile on her lips. Even the simple motion of turning around was a show when she did it. “Is it because you’re getting older?”

“Ha! I can still knock you down on a fight.” Their banter had become much tamer since the war. Something about fighting for their lives and everyone else’s brought them closer again. “How are you feeling?” Winter turned back to the grave in front of her. Looking down, he realized it was her father’s.

“It’s one of those days…” The wind blew forward some leaves from the nearby trees; it was fall. Everything was golden and calming; except her troubled eyes. She wouldn’t say another word, but Qrow didn’t need it. He knew where her gaze fell.

The man had died on a direct raid at SDC, with the intent to steal the Dust and tear down the building. He knew about the incident, found out later that Winter was sent to defend the company, but only saw her weeks later, so he had no chance to talk to her about how she felt, and she wouldn’t want to, anyway. They _were_ in a war. Negative emotions were much triggering back then.

Jacques Schnee was a son of a bitch, and how Winter could possibly miss him was something beyond his comprehension. While he wanted to ask, anyone would know better.

So the professor stretched his hand to her, looking as the gloved fingers intertwined with his. It was better like that; no words, just their presence. If she wished to tell him how she felt, or to speak at all, she would do it without him asking.

And she did.

“Thought you were going to judge me for mourning my father.” That was just slightly offensive.

“Ouch. Even I have decency.” She breathed out a laughter. “Do you really want me to speak my mind about it?”

“You don’t have to, Qrow. I know you can’t understand.” She then sat by his side, crossing her legs under her. And kept holding his hand. “If you can hold your hatred for my father, I’ll tell you something.”

“I’m listening.”

Her hold onto his fingers was soft.

“I was an only child for almost 11 years. And, you believe it or not, he was a kind man in the beginning. He brought me gifts almost each month, we played together on my room, he would let me be on his office and rock me to sleep on his arms while reading the company’s profits… I loved him dearly.” Her grip started to tighten gradually. “Even when the accusations started to come, he tried to avoid bringing his anger home, just so my mom and I would still see a smile on his face when he came back.”

Qrow couldn’t believe what he heard, neither picture a toddler Winter on that man’s arms, sleeping. He remained silent, both because he had no idea of what to say and because he was genuinely interested.

“Then the White Fang attacked us. And then again, and again, and again. All the damage, the lost Dust, and the problems with other businessmen who wished to avoid him in order to remain away from the Fang’s wrath… It piled up, and it became worse, and suddenly we had reached the point where he couldn’t keep his anger at the office anymore. Once he almost hit my mother in the face. Once he broke a glass and a shard cut my face. After months, he stopped apologizing.” Her breathing became a bit shallow, and he squeezed her hand tighter. “I watched my father rot and I couldn’t help him.”

“And then… I decided to become a Huntress.” Her sigh failed. “The attacks made me afraid. I wanted to protect myself and my family. And, even before, I liked more training with my mother than analyzing the company’s negotiations my father made. So I told him I didn’t want to be a Heiress, but a Huntress instead. He didn’t like it one bit. Told me he had a plan for my future and it did not include leaving the family’s company. I was a prepubescent girl, you can deduce what happened.”

Winter pushed herself back to her feet. For the first time, she felt… True. She wasn’t forcing her spine into a pristine, soldier of steel position, her face wasn’t a blank mask, there was dirt on her legs and her hand was still there. On his own. Warm and soft, but strong.

“My siblings were just born then. I lived two years on that house before I left for Titan Academy, and I had to endure watching my father give them attention and treat me like a stranger. But even then, he was cold. My siblings never met the loving father I had, at least, not completely, not without seconds intentions. And when I left, I told him I hated him. I really did, back then.” Her sighs and lip biting were a signal that she was losing it. “I lived almost 27 years yearning for that father I have lost, and asking myself if he ever really loved me!…”

“Winter-” Their contact broke suddenly, and she stomped her way to the edge of the Memorial Cliff. She was crying; her pitched sighs and cries broke his heart and brought her pain to him. She made a smart, bitchy move, though - the passage between the graves sometimes got too narrow for him to follow her on the wheelchair.

“Why do you think I always aimed for perfection? Because part of me wanted him to look at me and realize I had made it! I was free!” Winter was breaking like a glass someone was pressing down very slowly. And, suddenly, shards flew all around. “I never had any regrets concerning my choices! But I regret not being able to save him with every fiber of my being, no matter that I know I couldn’t! I _just_ do!”

“Winter!” The slam of his hands into the chair’s arms was nothing to stop her. It was a dull sound under the ocean they were under. It hurt. More than when he got hit or lost his Aura, more than when he got poisoned, more than the effects of the poison, more than the realization he couldn’t walk anymore (not without Dust). 

“I went to the SDC even before the raid began, because the General knew it would happen sooner or later. It was the first time I looked into my father’s eyes for _years_. And he told me _he was sorry_. He told me he was sorry for pushing me away! Told me he was _proud_ of what I did, proud of _me_! He told me he loved me, Qrow! I was _so happy!_ ”

The professor didn’t even know he was crying too until he felt a little tap on his chest, a tear. Followed by its peers, they blurred his vision and forced him to blink and shed more tears just to focus on her image. She couldn’t go on anymore, she didn’t have to; he knew what happened after. He saw the scars. He saw her prosthetics. But she still did. Emotions, once let free, couldn’t be subdued again.

She turned around, facing the horizon just so he wouldn’t see her cry anymore, and her ex-nemesis pushed himself up, testing his legs. They held on fine. He might still had a bit of Dust inside the metal vertebra replacement; he could make it to her, but once he arrived there, she’d probably have to carry him. That didn’t matter at the moment. He had to do it.

“I _watched_ my father _die!_ I promised him we would make amends after the war, but he died because of _me_! If he’s on that grave, I’m the one to blame!”

The strength left him with each step, but he did make it with just enough to stand. He pulled her to his arms and whispered on her ear, “You can cry if you need to, I’m right here. You’re safe with me. It was _never_ your fault. You did all you could and I’m sure he knows it and he’s still proud of you.” And she did.

She cried and he cried until night fell. He held her for comfort and she held him when his legs gave up. They hugged and adjusted themselves to each other just to feel their heartbeat on their own body. Once the ocean of emotions drained away, once their soul found peace again, she carried him patiently back to his wheelchair and he gave her a handkerchief to wipe away the makeup that could not withstand the water and the rubbing against his suit.

They didn’t call each other “girlfriend” or “boyfriend”, because it wasn’t an official thing yet; but it was pretty much what they were.

“I’m sorry.” She looked up at him. “I said a lot of shit about your father without knowing those things.” Her smile was so frail, he felt like pulling her into his lap and hugging her to protect it from the world with his own body.

“It’s fine. The man you knew as Jacques Schnee was a bastard, so you weren’t wrong.” The cloth was folded again and again on her fingers. “What I want to know is how much of his love was genuine. Guess I’ll never know, huh?”

“One day, maybe.” Once more, he took her right hand, feeling the hardness of the metal underneath the fake skin, admiring how good that piece was. Sturdy, fast-working and realistic look. “But you’ll have the General for that matter. You’re pretty much his surrogate child anyway.” No answer but a bit of sincerity into her lips. “And you’ll have me. I’ll love you like none of them ever could. How does that sound?”

Then her smile shone, and the moon was merely reflecting her beauty. Her lips felt too soft and delicate against his, like velvet and rose petals, and she grabbed the push handles of his chair as they made their way back. She was close enough for him to lean his head against her.

The would could be broken, but they made it whole enough for each other.

“That sounds amazing.”


End file.
